Crazy Eights
by Card Carrying Villains
Summary: Love is love, pity is pity. You can't help that you've fallen flushed for a sociopath. Really, it's not your fault.


Hi, I'm Spades (not that this stopped being a thing that was true). This is my first time writing something anywhere near femslash. Also, why do I keep writing so much sadstuck? Like, really. I need to stop. I need comedy in my life, especially after all the plot bunnies that got me after [S] Cascade.

OKAY I WILL STOP RANTING NOW.

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><p>Kanaya: Lament.<p>

You are Kanaya Maryam and you seriously cannot fathom why and how you happened to fall flushed for your exact opposite. She's violent, you're mild. She's pitch-black, you're pale grey. Her room's a mess, yours is meticulously tidy. She has long hair, you have short hair. She wears pants, you wear skirts. Her, dark. You, light. The disparities stretch on into infinity.

Vriska is a put-upon, unstable girl; there's no way around this fact. She has to murder to feed her insane lusus, and it's rubbed off on her and affected her so deeply that even for a troll, for a highblood, she feels a remarkably little amount of remorse over killing. You may fantasize about being a rainbow drinker and biting people for their blood, but the thought of actually killing someone still bothers you at this point. You'd have to take a real issue with someone to contemplate feelings blacker than blackrom for them.

But it's the instability and the fact that she smiles through it is what got you the first time you met. Eridan introduced you, oddly enough. You're his friend, she's his kismesis -well, at the time she was, at least- and Eridan, being his bizarre self, decided you ought to meet Vriska. Maybe in his odd, romantically addled mind, he thought you would make a good moirail for her. More likely, though, he saw a breakup on the horizon and wanted you to auspistice for him and her.

The first time you meet Vriska is a nightmare unlike anything else. She's rude, she's impulsive, she's egotistical and she grates on your nerves. She dominates conversations, she's condescending, she's deeply disturbed, nice to look at, distinctly pitiful-

Smiling outwardly, grimacing inwardly, you kindly set fire to your train of thought.

Vriska contacts you via Trollian the next evening. By the time you reach the computer, her blueblood text has filled the screen with inquiries as to what the heck could you possibly be doing instead of talking to her amazing self. You dignify her egotistical ranting with a curt response of _Hello, Vriska_ and suddenly there's a whole lot more blue text on your screen. It looks like this:

_Kanayaaaaaaaa_

_Aaaaaaaa_

_Aaaaaaaa_

_Aaaaaaaa!_

_You need to get online more often!_

_I 8eileve we have lots of good talking to do._

_All of the talking._

_All of it._

You sigh. You pinch the bridge of your nose and try to curb an oncoming headache as you respond to this… this _lunacy_.

You talk to Vriska until the sun rises the next morning. You have just pulled your first all-nighter ever. You aren't tired at all, and you've learned more about this girl than you ever expected to. About the people she's killed, and when she started to forget the details of the people she's killed from one victim to the next, about how goddamn stressful Eridan is, how exponentially more stressful her lusus is. She tells you about her flarping with Terezi and Aradia and Tavros, and she tells you that she thinks she has a problem stemming from her string of necessary murders. She can't stop causing pain. Disaster. Hurting people she's close to. She tells you that sometimes she scares herself.

You listen. You take it all in. You try to understand. She's deeper than you thought she was in person, oddly enough, but then again the internet has that strange sort of power over people's confidence. People are less afraid to say things digitally, impersonally (except for maybe Tavros, but he's the exception to several universal constants so you don't dwell on it).

The next time you talk to Vriska, it's painfully clear in your mind that you pity her like burning, flaming hell.

And it keeps getting worse. She's a wreck. She puts on a front all day, every day. You're not completely sure how you managed to crack her psychological armor so quickly and easily. It might be your natural mothering instinct kicking in. You feel bad for what this poor girl has suffered, feel terrible that she's been dealing with it alone for so long, even worse that it's driven her half-crazy and you just can't help it.

(The fact that she's nice to look at doesn't help your case).

You keep talking to her and she spills out her soul to you and one day you insist that the two of you meet in person again, without Eridan around this time for her to show off her false bravado and hateful tendencies for. You can tell she's nervous because she's us8ng 8 l8t 8f extr8ne8us 8's when she agrees.

You aren't sure, by the end of the night spent in her hive, what quadrant you've ended up in, but you're cuddled up in a pile of treasure in Vriska's basement with all the lights off. Her head is resting on your chest and her arms are wound around your waist and her legs are tangled up in yours. You run your fingers through her hair and comfort her as you finally get to hear the horrible, scared emotions behind the words she's up 'til now only typed for you. You want to kiss her. Really badly. You're afraid to do it because she's afraid to be alone with her problems again and you won't let her lose you just because you were selfish about your feelings.

She shooes you out of her hive in the late morning because she needs her sleep. Says she has a campaign with "freaking Eridan" tomorrow evening, needs to sleep to make sure she has enough energy to actually win and be able to feed her lusus the next night. You leave and regret leaving as you do it.

Vriska's neuroses drive you insane. She's persnickety and egotistical and messy and a walking unlucky disaster. She's crazy. You want her. She's really crazy. You _really_ want her. She's everything you're not and you're glad you're not. You're everything she's not and wishes she were stable enough to even come close to. You know she doesn't pity you back.

You watch from a distance, stewing in your own minor quadrant-related misfortune, pretend to be her moirail until she someday decides to talk feelings with you for real. You lament the fact that you're attracted to dangerous, psychopathic girls with major problems. You know in your heart it's not her fault that she's the way she is.

It hurts all the more when her ego and impulses and disaster-magnetism get the better of her. It's hard, you think, agreeing with Eridan for once in your life. Growing up and being a kid. It's hard and nobody understands.

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><p>Reviews will be fed into the quantum transducer and used to generate plot.<p>

Also if anyone has any ideas for comedy oneshots I could do (ANYTHING. ANY PAIRING, ANY CHARACTER), I'm taking requests as of now.


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